Once when I was in Ghana, I was walking up a city street with my two companions when we heard someone shrieking. The road was very wide, with spaces for two buses to go up the hill and veer right on one side, and the same amount of space allocated for buses to come down from the left on the opposite side. As we looked around, we saw coming from the left side, far from where we stood, a large wagon plummeting down the hill with its owner caught helplessly on its front. I assume the owner had lost control of the heavy cart as she navigated it down the steep hill and in her efforts to stop it, she had been swept up by it. Her arms were stretched out over the front of the cart, gripped to either side, and even from how far away we were, I could see the whites of her eyes as she sped screaming down the hill.
Mercifully, before hitting any people or cars, the cart crashed into the corner of a curb. One wheel jumped the curb, and the imbalance caused the cart to overturn, throwing its passenger to ground unharmed. I realized as soon as the cart stopped that I had been frozen for the last 10 seconds, as had all of the people around me. We watched the street unfreeze and resume the normal practices of buying and selling. A few people helped the girl return her cart to a standing position, after which, she picked up the handle and kept walking on down the hill.
Maybe I have PTSD from this tiny fraction of my life from so long ago, because sometimes when I close my eyes, I can still see how the girl's clothes billowed out around her as she flew down that steep slope. It makes me sick to my stomach. There was nothing I could do to stop it, but (Thank God! Thank God!) the Lord did provide.
What always amazes me about this experience is how the girl just got up and kept walking. She was unharmed and her cart didn't break, and she had work to do, so she just got up and kept going. That was a common trait of people I met in Ghana: they did not spend a long time bemoaning their trials. And here was another big common trait: there was lots of praising God. My friends out there remind me of the saints represented in that hymn, "Come, Come ye Saints." They "wend their way" with joy.
So here is a good thing: I have been writing for a week. Hooray! I feel happy of myself. And you know what else, much of the terror of putting my blog address on Facebook and trying to respond to people's comments has lessened. I feel like I hit the curb. A whole lot of that has been due to your positive feedback and encouragement and protection of my nougatty center. Thank you.
Also, an invitation: if you have been reading along and thinking to yourself, "Man, I can't believe she's been writing about good things and hasn't mentioned _______ yet!" Let me know, man! You can even private message me on Facebook if public comments aren't your style. I totes get that.
Until then, I am going to pick up my wagon and keep on walking down my hill.
All the best to you.